


Ice in a field of flowers

by The_trash_cannot



Category: Original Work
Genre: Espionage, Gen, Random & Short, Weird imagery, cafe setting, surprise no actual romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21671965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_trash_cannot/pseuds/The_trash_cannot
Summary: Every clock is counting to something
Kudos: 1





	Ice in a field of flowers

Cars drove past the window, honks muffled by the glass that insulated the cafe in its own little world. The bitter tang of coffee in the air mingled with the sweetness of chocolate and the floral scent of tea. People quietly talked in a language that she didn't bother understanding in the peaceful moment. Across the cafe, someone sat with their mouth barely agape, taken with the words on the pages of their book. She wrapped her hands around her warm cup and gazed out into the peach morning sky, not yet tainted with the rain that hung over them so many days. It wasn't often that she allowed herself the time to soak in specialty brews and morning light, but on occasions like this, exceptions could be made.   
  
A couple to her left gazed at each other, hands wrapped around their drinks and the hand of their other half. As she glanced out the window again, a soft breeze ruffled the tree that brushed against the glass. Beyond the budding branches and tiny leaves, she could spot birds returning north as the last of winter's chill receded. A wispy cloud passed in front of the early sun, temporarily enveloping the outside world in a shadow of misty grey. The barista handed a talkative customer their coffee, dark cheeks dusted with a blush as she tucked a stray braid behind her ear.   
  
Across the street, a student with a backpack, computer, and oversized sweater to fight the spring chill hurried towards the college a few blocks away; causing a flock of grey pigeons to scatter from their patch of crumbs on the sidewalk. There was a soft beep from behind the counter as a batch of fruity chocolate scones finished in the oven, flooding the cafe with a new aroma as soon as it was cracked open. From somewhere off to her left, faint notes of classical music floated from a pair of earbuds; forcing a rosy smile to dimple her cheeks.  
  
The clock on the wall, which was just a hair slower than the one on her wrist, had just struck half past 6 when the door opened and a new patron stepped in. She knew him. She knew everything about him, from his sandy blond hair to his crooked nose to his dazzling smile to his sensible shoes and medium roast americano. If she were blindfolded, she would recognize the pattern of his gait against the faux wood floor.  
  
She knew him. The man she was here to kill.


End file.
